I don't even tell you today
that I don't feel like
(like you and like me,
like us, the two of us)
you already know what I wouldn't mind
that you leave
after all
one hundred years of solitude
is more than I can take


I was speaking with the sun and the wind
and they let me guess
that they won't finance spring anymore,
they caught the last train to Vama
and since one hundred years I didn't hear of them
even summer love
expired one year and one month ago.

my only friend
is sad, cold, and waiting for me,
waiting for me to shoot him out the barrel
(I didn't tell him yet
to leave it for later)

I messed up seasons
days and nights
and this damned life
with a borrowed death.
(only one hope I have)
the old man who sells all sort
promised to me
that at this hundred years' ending
he'll tell me where to find
people with moon hearts and skins.

I'll still wait for St. Peter,
then I'll go away, walking
to Vama Veche


October 31th, 2003